


One Who Bears Gifts

by alfing



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, Bilbo is So Done, Kinda, M/M, Secret Identity, Secrets, The Valar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13107684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alfing/pseuds/alfing
Summary: Hobbits have been blessed with magic by Yavanna. Bilbo happens to be one of the best magic users in Hobbiton. Unfortunately for him, his skills let Gandalf assume that they would be useful in an attempt to reclaim a mountain.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this will be my first ever Hobbit fanfiction as well as my first Bagginshield fanfiction. I've been reading "An Atlas of Tolkien" lately and all this stuff about the Valar and Melkor made me want to write something that involved more of those elements, so here it is! The first chapter! I wanted to write it longer, but I was starting to run out of ideas on how it should end and I got to a certain point and decided "this will do." Currently, this story is unbeta'd, and I wouldn't mind if someone would like to do it for me some day! But for now, I'm just going to wing it and hope it's to everyone's liking. Please enjoy.

**I** t is a secret to most that such small creatures who resided West of the Misty Mountains--respectively known as hobbits--could possess a great power. It is unlike the power of which brought darkness over Middle-Earth for many a millennia; rather, it is a gift which brings good harvest, good intentions, and only light. This power was granted to them by the Valar, Yavanna, the Giver of Fruits. Hobbits, who were believed to be closely related to the Men conceived by Eru Ilúvatar himself, were peaceful folk who treasured their homes, farms, and kin above all else. This inspired Yavanna to gift them with magic similar to her own--to grow healthy life in their gardens and flower pots.

To ensure their safety from the dark forces left from Morgoth’s reign, they were protected by the Maiar of Yavanna: Aiwendil--also known as Radagast. In return for these gifts, Yavanna only asked that the hobbits celebrate every good harvest with festivities and cheer as the world could always use such happiness when it is on the brink of darkness. They happily agreed and for many, many years, they kept their magic secret and joyously celebrated each harvest in the name of the Valar, Yavanna.

The hobbits’ home of the Shire was like a clearing in a storm, an oasis in a desert, one of the few places remaining in Middle-Earth that wasn’t tainted by evil. There were very few battles in their grassy hills and never an orc nor warg passes through. This allowed them to prosper in peace, their existence not well known in the world. And that was a blessing. There would be no goblins knocking on their doors and wraiths roaming their markets. There were occasional visits from those besides hobbits--such as men, dwarves, maybe even elves--but they never stayed long and never caused trouble. And trouble was a thing they avoided, indeed. Why, the most dramatic thing that happened in the Shire was the time when the Thain--under the heavy influence of a fever--had mistaken a small lizard for a firedrake of the North and put the whole of Tuckborough in a frenzy.

Hobbits could only take so much excitement in their lives and it had been all spent when Yavanna granted them their magic and now they were perfectly content with their existence. Well, Tooks and Brandybucks were the more adventurous types compared to others, and while they seemed content, they mostly yearn for more mischief and adventure. They were a contrast to the Bagginses and Sackville-Bagginses who were prominent and somewhat wealthy clans that reside mostly in Hobbiton. They were rather dainty folk who cared more about their respectable reputation than the supposed thrills of adventure. However, those stereotypes were put to rest upon the union of one Belladonna Took and one Bungo Baggins. Together, they had one son, and his name was Bilbo Baggins.

Bungo built his family a cozy, yet large smial within the hill of Bag End, and the three of them lived happily until they both passed away, leaving Bag End to a young Bilbo.

 

**~**

 

Bilbo knew very well that, as a Took, his mother was very adventurous by nature. She even managed to befriend a passing grey wizard who entertained hobbits by shooting fireworks with his magic, creating great animated figures that danced through the night sky. As a fauntling, Belladonna would tell him stories of her minor adventures. She described the hospitality of elves in Rivendell, she spoke tales of her meetings with dwarves in Ered Luin, and she recalled her encounter with a mysterious being from East of the Shire who was known as Tom Bombadil. And at such a young age, those stories were fascinating to him and just like his mother, he wished for adventure. But those ambitions died with his parents and he had to change to become the respectable Bilbo Baggins of Bag End who lounged on his bench and smoked a pipe of Old Toby, who always grew the best vegetables every harvest because his gift happens to be stronger than most, who made the best pot pies in Hobbiton, perhaps even in the Shire. However, the simple lifestyle he had grown accustomed to ended when two familiar figures approached him on a day where he decided to sit outside for a smoke.

It was quite the sight to see, one grey cloaked wizard--who was taller than hobbits and some men--and one brown clad wizard who was only slightly taller than Bilbo--made their way, side by side, up the path to Bag End. Bilbo hadn’t noticed them at first, not until his smoke ring had transformed into a butterfly and bopped him right on his nose. The action was startling and he looked up to see the towering figure of a wizard before him. Afterwards, his eyes lowered to meet those of Radagast the Brown.

“Good morning,” he greeted politely, though not without some confusion. Radagast offered him a warm smile in return, if not slightly timid. However, the tall figure beside him fixed him with an intense gaze from beneath his floppy, grey hat.

“Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?” inquired the wizard with some amusement, eyes twinkling as he peered down at the hobbit.

Bilbo opened and closed his mouth for a moment as he pondered what he indeed meant by ‘good morning.’ “All of them at once, I suppose,” he responded, albeit unsurely. Though the wizard seemed displeased by his answer.

Radagast took that as his cue to speak up, clearing his throat to gain their attention. “Mister Baggins, I would like to introduce you to my good friend, Gandalf the Grey,” he said with a small gesture of his hand.

Bilbo looked to him a moment before extending his arm politely. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mister Gandalf. I’m-”

“I know quite well who you are, Bilbo Baggins. We are not far enough to be strangers,” the grey wizard interrupted, keeping his hands placed by his side rather than shake the one offered to him. The hobbit seemed surprised by this information before his memory reminded him that this Gandalf is the same grey wizard who brought fireworks to every other harvest festival. He recalled this aloud, evoking a rather indignant sniff from the Maiar. 

“Well I am glad to hear you remember at least  _ one _ thing about me,” Gandalf said quite bitterly.

Bilbo took another puff of his pipe. “So what brings the two of you to this part of the Shire, hm?” he inquired conversationally. It was unusual to see one, let alone two wizards around Hobbiton when there were no celebrations about.

“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it’s very difficult to find anyone,” replied the grey wizard with a suspicious look in Bilbo’s opinion.

The hobbit gave a skeptical scoff at his words. “Well, I don’t think you’re about to find anyone west of Bree looking for an adventure. I suggest you try asking the Brandybucks in Buckland. Or perhaps some relatives of mine in Tuckborough would be eager to join your...  _ quest _ .”

While Gandalf gave him a disappointed frown, Radagast decided to clarify. “He meant you, Mister Baggins.”

The notion greatly surprised Bilbo and it took him a moment to process what was just said. “I-no-I will not-” he took a few steps up towards his door and away from the two wizards. “I absolutely  _ refuse _ !” He put his hairy foot down quite hard for emphasis on his point. Bilbo Baggins? On an  _ adventure _ ? Just the idea of it was absurd!

He had hoped that that was enough to drive the wizards away, but they continued to insist. At this point, the hobbit had gotten rather frustrated with their persistence and marched all the way up his stone steps and lingered by his round, green door, only for a moment. “Good morning!” he said with finality. “We don’t want any adventures here, thank you!” And he retreated into the comforts of his smial, slamming the door quite forcefully behind him.

Bilbo was rather pleased with how he handled the situation. He wouldn’t let two  _ mad _ wizards convince him to go on an adventure of all things. But for a brief moment, his eyes were stuck on a portrait of his mother hanging just above the fireplace and he was reminded of her tales, of how excited she was to share those stories with him. He remembered his own ambitions to live a complicated life as his mother had. A scratching on his door brought him from his reverie and he swiftly and quietly moved to peer through the window. Gandalf’s suspicious gaze filled the opening, startling him and he hid just beneath the window sill. As soon as the wizard disappeared down the path with Radagast in his tow, Bilbo allowed himself to release the breath he had been holding.

Blasted wizards and their adventures.

 

**~**

 

It wasn’t until later in that evening that Bilbo had discovered what Gandalf had done to his door (which he just had repainted, thank you very much) and now there were  _ dwarves _ ransacking his precious home! Oh, if only his magic allowed it, he would have turned Gandalf into a frog or something, just to satisfy his revenge. He clearly remembered that he would be having none of that adventure that was mentioned and here he was, acting as a host to twelve rambunctious dwarves who are moving his furniture, pillaging his pantry, and not to mention  _ blunting his knives _ . It was all very unappreciated to have such a ruckus go through his smial, he had already fended off those filthy brutes from damaging his mother’s belongings any further. Bilbo gave an annoyed huff as he inspected the dirt and scratches left on his mother’s dowry box with a dismayed look.

“You will get used to them soon enough,” Gandalf assured him which only made him more upset.

“I don’t want to have to get used to them as I never want to see them set foot in my house again!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “In fact, I am not at all pleased to be in their company and I still do not understand why you have brought them here. They are ruining everything!”

The wizard only looked at him with amusement, much to his annoyance, and before he could answer, one dwarf interrupted their conversation, asking what he should do with his finished plate. And before Bilbo himself could reply, one other dwarf--the one with the shorter beard, what was his name? Oh, Kili--took the plate and  _ threw it across the hall to his brother _ . A very alarmed squeak came from the hobbit as he tried to get him to stop throwing his mother’s china as he began to toss more than the plate. And he only found himself even more frustrated when he rushed to the dining room to see them stacked nicely on his table. Bilbo decided that he didn’t like dwarves at all.

Before he could complain further about their behavior to Gandalf, three knocks sounded on his door and he gave a deep sigh at the thought of there being  _ more _ dwarves at his doorstep. Twelve was already too many and twelve more would just be chaos! However, the aura within the smial changed and every dwarf instantly sobered. Bilbo felt a bit of dread as he wondered who could be beyond his door that could cause such a silence. He didn’t have to wonder long as Gandalf made his way to the entrance and opened the door, revealing a very regal looking dwarf whose piercing blue eyes and hair streaked with silver captivated the hobbit. At first glimpse, he felt that perhaps this dwarf would have better manners as opposed to his kin. He was disappointed to find that he was just as rude.

He felt that he was very much done with all matters concerning dwarves.

 

**~**

 

Soon after settling down with a bowl of soup, the new dwarf (whose name, Bilbo learned, was Thorin) went immediately to discuss something that sounded very important. But the hobbit decided it was none of his business to listen to the concerns of dwarves after all they had done to his home already. And despite this, Bilbo stood idly by the dining room, listening to their conversation in a not so subtle way. What his ear picked up (and very good ears they were, almost as good as an elf’s) was talk about a mountain, treasure, burglars, and most terrifically, a  _ dragon _ . Curiously, he peered over Thorin’s shoulder to look at the map that he was looking at. 

“‘The Lonely Mountain,’” he read aloud, giving an interested sniff. And if Bilbo had been listening earlier into the conversation, he would have realized that they intended to walk right into that mountain which potentially held a  _ dragon _ of all things, just to reclaim it. It was a fool’s quest. No one who was right in the mind would ever think of participating in such a journey. And it was a good thing that he was of the sort, too. There was some exclamation about needing a burglar and Bilbo gave a skeptical hum.

“Yes, you would need a good one, too, I would say. An expert,” he quipped, thumbs resting beneath his suspenders. And of course, the eyes of every dwarf landed on him and he stood there for a moment, bemusement gracing his expression.

“And are you?” inquired a red haired dwarf whose name may be something along the lines of Gloin.

Bilbo looked behind him, in case the dwarf was talking to someone besides him before looking back after seeing no one was there. “Am I what?” he asked in return, not quite following. And of course, the dwarf with the ear trumpet had terribly misheard what he had said and exclaimed that he was indeed an expert in whatever subject he did not realize. But the assumption had caused the whole table to express their opinions on the topic and Bilbo felt like he may be getting a headache from having to listen to all of the loud noises emitting from these rowdy dwarves.

Gandalf suddenly stood just then, towering over the table as a dark shadow was cast behind him. “If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar...” he began, voice booming and menacing, “then a burglar he is.”

And that successfully shut them up. But now Bilbo found that he could not quite speak properly without feeling a little bit nervous in Gandalf’s presence. To think the old wizard could be so intimidating.

After that, there was more discussion about this journey. Keys were passed out, doors were discovered, routes were planned. And then there was a contract. A contract was passed to Bilbo and he wanted to refuse, determined to stay where he was in his comfortable little hobbit hole than out in the treacherous world full of orcs and wargs and  _ dragons _ . But he couldn’t stop his curiosity from opening that paper up and watching as it rolled down to the floor. His eyes widened slightly in surprise and amazement before he began to read it quickly.

“It’s just the usual,” said the white haired dwarf called Balin, the one who had given him the contract, “summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth.”

Bilbo paused in his reading for a moment to regard Balin with a fixed stare. “Funeral arrangements?” he repeated, and then he was looking through the contract again, brows knit closely together. “Oh, ‘up to but not exceeding one fourteenth total profit if any.’ Seems fair. ‘Present company shall not be liable for injuries including but not limited to: laceration, evisceration... incineration?’” He looked pointedly back at the dwarves. “ _ Incinceration _ ?” he repeated.

A different dwarf, one wearing a rather silly looking hat, spoke up at that. “Oh, aye. He’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye,” he said cheerily.

Bilbo suddenly felt extremely light headed and he placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. Of course. Of  _ bloody _ course. They were facing a dragon so it was only natural that  _ incineration _ could be a possibility! “You all right, laddie?” Balin had asked him and it felt a little bit better to have someone even the slightest bit concerned for him.

“Yeah, I’ll be. Feel a bit faint,” was what he managed, taking deep breaths as he tried not to think too much about dragons and burning to death. But the dwarf from earlier, whose name he remembered to be Bofur, was interested in making it worse.

“Think furnace, with wings,” he continued, fueling his imagination and making Bilbo feel even dizzier. He needed some air. “Flash of light, searing pain, then  _ poof _ ! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash.”

The hobbit stood there a moment--perhaps he had gotten over it as his head felt light as a feather. “Nope,” he decided and promptly fainted.

 

**~**

 

When he came to, he insisted that he sit in his favorite armchair by the fire while nursing a cup of tea to calm his nerves. Bilbo needed to think. And preferably  _ not _ think about the whole dragons and death business. Gandalf stood in the room with him, seeming to be losing his patience. And so was he.

“I do not understand why you want me on this journey so badly, Gandalf. I am but a mere hobbit who enjoys sitting by the fire and reading about adventures rather than partake in them,” he grumbled, taking a sip of his tea. 

The grey wizard sighed as he looked at him. “The world is not in your books and maps. It’s out there,” he reminded, gesturing out the window. And Bilbo looked out there and only frowned.

“I can’t just go running off into the blue,” he said into his cup, peering down into his reflection in the tea. “I am a Baggins of Bag End!”

Gandalf gave him a very tired look. “The Valar Yavanna gifted you with magic. It may not be extremely powerful magic, but it is very valuable,” he recalled softly. “You are capable of bringing light to the darker, corrupted places in Middle-Earth. Places such as the Greenwood which have been so infected with rot that it has become known as Mirkwood. I understand that this power has been kept a secret among you hobbits, but it is a gift that could greatly assist these dwarves in the reclaiming of Erebor.”

Bilbo scoffed at that. “And what would you expect me to do? Grow some flowers and present them to the dragon, asking him nicely to leave? No. I would rather give up all my good silverware to that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins than go on a quest such as this one,” he continued, taking another sip of his now cold tea.

Gandalf heaved another sigh, seating himself in the chair in front of the hobbit. “And what do you think your mother would say?”

Bilbo shot him a wry look. “Do not bring my mother into this. I know perfectly well what she would say,” he huffed, pouting only slightly. “She’d tell me to stop being so stubborn and probably even help me pack my bag. I have a feeling that she would also be charmed by those dwarves out there, I know it wouldn’t be the first time she’d met their sort.”

The wizard shared a fond smile at that and the corners of Bilbo’s lips twitched as he suppressed a smile of his own. “If you understand that much, Bilbo, then will you not reconsider?” he urged.

The hobbit made a small sound that sounded like a mix between a thoughtful hum and an exasperated groan. He sipped once more at his tea. But Gandalf wasn’t about to give up yet. “If you were to go on this quest, you’ll have a tale or two to tell of your own when you come back, much like your mother had done,” he tried.

Bilbo looked up at him briefly and he lowered his empty cup. “Can you promise that I will come back?” he asked then, not quite meeting the wizard’s eyes as he was afraid of what his answer might be. And there was a moment of quiet and the hobbit could practically hear the war echoing in Gandalf’s mind.

“No,” the Maiar said at last. “I cannot. And if you do...” Bilbo looked up at the wizard then, “you will not be the same.”

Bilbo said nothing and he closed his eyes, listening to the soft sounds of a song. His dreams were filled with images of burning trees and death and the sad, blue eyes of a dwarf king who had lost too much. 

When morning came, the hobbit found himself still sitting in his arm chair, a blanket covering him. Bilbo blinked as he slowly realized where he was. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stood up with a wobble, blanket falling to the floor. It was quiet. He wandered out into the hall and peered into every room. There was no sign of any dwarves or wizards anywhere. He let out a sigh but couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. He wandered over to one of his tables and saw upon it the contract that he was given by Balin just last night. He stared at it intently for a moment, considering the possibility of going on such a quest.

Well, it had been some time since he had used his magic and he was getting used to growing bigger and sturdier plants. If those dwarves ever needed a ladder of vines he could easily supply them with one.

Bilbo sniffed a bit, staring at the signatures at the bottom of the paper.

He was going to regret this, he knew.

 

**~**

 

He couldn’t believe he managed to catch up to them before he really lost the company. He had hollered to them at the top of his lungs, pleading for them to stop and he was quite glad that they did because as soon as he reached them, he was well out of breath. He held up the contract of which he signed just before rushing out of his smial in Bag End. Balin accepted it from him and grinned to their leader before pocketing the contract.

“Welcome to the company, Master Baggins.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: lots and lots of salt...

**T** rolls. They were dreadful creatures. If their grotesque faces with their crusty eyes, bulging noses, and permanent snarls weren’t enough to disgust him, then being used as a handkerchief by one would certainly do the trick.

He blamed Kili and Fili for this.

For what? For being covered in  _ troll snot _ from head to toe. For being roughly handled like a  _ ragdoll _ and stretched quite painfully as barter for surrender. It was very unpleasant and he never wanted to go through anything like that  _ ever _ again. And it only got worse when they were stuffed and tied into sacks like potatoes. 

Bilbo hated dwarves. They were unruly, rude, rambunctious, not to mention:  _ very _ untidy. He very strongly disliked them and he regrets every moment he decided to spend with them on this blasted journey. Oh, if only Gandalf hadn’t enticed him to partake in this quest, he could be sitting at home right at this very moment, enjoying a cup of chamomile and cozying up to the fire. He was quite done with wizards and dwarves thank you very much. He would be fine with letting them all get eaten.

However, Bilbo hated trolls more.

The hobbit sighed as his mind briefly considered trying to save these very  _ un _ charming dwarves from the hungry bellies of a few dastardly creatures. It wasn’t like his magic could somehow cast the trolls into the Void. The best he could do was grow some vegetables and offer it as a gesture of peace. But he wasn’t even sure if trolls liked vegetables. Just then, there was a rustle in the bushes and he saw a figure that looked similarly to Gandalf passing by swiftly. He had an idea.

Bilbo stood up as best as he could while wearing a sack, hopping up to the towering beasts. “Stop!” he shouted at them, putting as much authority into his voice as possible. “You cannot eat them!” The three trolls turned to look at him curiously, squinting with suspicion. “You cannot eat them... er, yet,” he corrected himself, wincing at his own choice of words. Already he was messing it up. “They would taste better with some vegetables! Yes, yes, vegetables. Like some good scalloped potatoes. And I know where you can find the perfect batch!”

This caused some shouts of outrage among the dwarves, he heard one call him a  _ traitor _ of all things when he was trying to buy them some time for escape. Ungrateful bastards.

The trolls scoffed at him. “We don’t need vegetables. Hell, they’d even taste fine raw.” And that was when one of the trolls picked up Bombur, prepared to bite his plump head right off. Bilbo shouted at them as quick as he could.

“Don’t eat that one!” he hollered. “He’s got worms... in his tubes.”

The troll that had lifted Bombur from the ground promptly threw him back in the pile with a disgusted noise. This gave encouragement to Bilbo’s idea. “In fact, they’re all infected, they all have parasites. I wouldn’t risk eating them,” he continued in his fib. And it was a very effective one too, until those idiotic dwarves blurted their denials, almost ruining his plan until Thorin (thank Eru that he caught on) got them to realize what was happening and they all shouted about how they were infested with worms bigger than their arms. Bilbo couldn’t help but roll his eyes in exasperation.

Before the incredibly dull trolls could actually realize that they were, in fact, lying (if it wasn’t already obvious enough), Gandalf appeared from above, wielding his staff threateningly. “The dawn will take you!” he claimed, receiving only more confusion from the fell creatures which he used as a good distraction, enabling him to hit his staff against the stone and having it crumble away, revealing the break of sunlight.

There was a terrible, ear-piercing shriek as the trolls tried to retreat, but it was too late. They had turned to stone.

 

**~**

 

Soon after that predicament, they had found a foul-smelling and very  _ dirty _ troll cave filled with all sorts of treasures from small chests of jewels to a minor collection of Elvish blades, the likes of which were assumed by Thorin, Gandalf, and Bilbo as well. Though, Bilbo’s sword wasn’t as magnificent as the others. It was small, fit for his size, it had a simple design engraved in it and, like all Elvish blades, it glowed a pretty blue when Orcs or Goblins were near. He quite liked his blade, despite what the others said about it. His only hope was that he wouldn’t have to use it.

His hopes were short-lived as they were soon pursued by a pack of Wargs along with their Orc riders. They ran for their lives. Gandalf lead them through a mostly open field (a horrendous idea, Bilbo believed) the pack hot on their tail. Hobbits weren’t particularly good runners. Well, at least not Bagginses. So this was a very much  _ un _ appreciated exercise, with a group of very  _ un _ welcome company chasing them with the intent of murder of all things. Maybe not even something as polite as murder. Perhaps they intend to  _ slaughter _ them, or even  _ butcher _ them,  _ completely and utterly annihilating  _ them.

And it was to his relief--he even thought to send a very elaborate “thank you” to Eru Iluvatar, wherever he may be--that Gandalf had found them a good place to hide from the beasts as they were viciously done in by an ally unknown. It was at this point that Bilbo had to wonder where exactly they had been lead to. Once again, Gandalf was being terribly suspicious and he couldn’t help the slight feeling that whatever he was intending would be at their expense. Dwalin had found that the little cave they were in had a path and they were urged to follow. Bilbo lingered behind with Gandalf, excitement and anxiousness overwhelming him. 

“Where are we?” he asked quietly to the Maiar who seemed unsurprised by the question. He received no proper answer in return, of course, and his nerves only increased. Instead, Gandalf laid a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and kept him back only for a moment to utter a few words to him softly.

“Do not be alarmed if your magic is known here. These are old folk who have lived long before your kind, it is only natural that they are aware of other enchanted beings such as yourself,” he warned before continuing on. Bilbo opened his mouth, about to ask more, but then thought better of it and shut his lips completely, following in silence.

What he saw once emerging from the confines of the narrow path could not have justice done to it with mere illustrations and maps.

Imladris was beautiful. Bilbo wasn’t even sure if he could even use “beautiful” as the proper word to describe it. He felt more at home than in his own smial. The air was clean and he breathed it in hungrily, the light breeze playing with his golden curls and cooling the sweat on his skin. He should be wary of the immediate calmness he felt, but nothing could disrupt it. Nothing besides the unnecessary upset of the dwarves. Thorin was the most infuriated out of all of them, much to Bilbo’s confusion and annoyance. Why did he have to be so... moody all the time? This was  _ Rivendell _ , the Last Homely House East of the Sea, Imladris. They were fortunate enough to find a sanctuary as highly regarded as this one in the midst of their journey, so why could he not appreciate it despite his grudge against Elves.

Oh, how he could grow the perfect garden in a place like this. The weather is perfect, he was sure the soil would be just as satisfactory. He could bear all sorts of fruits, perhaps even Elvish ones if he could find the right seeds. However, these placid thoughts of gardens and fruits were quite rudely interrupted when those foolish dwarves greatly misunderstood the sudden appearance of the Elvish soldiers riding into Rivendell with Lord Elrond in the lead.

Bilbo was uncomfortably squished behind Bofur and Oin, bumping ungracefully into Thorin’s chest. Thorin’s very broad and strangely comfortable chest. Oh, and he was close enough to notice how well groomed his beard was, how there were a few grey streaks in his hair that was braided with a pretty silver bead. And his eyes, very stunning eyes they were, were a startling blue color that reminded Bilbo of diamonds and the sky. They sparkled all the same. Thorin was attractive, almost infuriatingly so. He was much too grumpy for such a handsome dwarf. And a prince no less!

“Is there something wrong, Master Baggins?” came the deep rumble of Thorin’s voice. The pleasant sound startled the hobbit as he hadn’t realized he had been staring for so long. What was he doing, ogling the most intolerable dwarf in the whole existence of dwarves? He had to remind himself of all of the strife they had all caused him by having him partake in this journey before his heart decided to do something ridiculous like develop  _ attachments _ .

“Nope, nothing at all,” he responded sharply, looking away hastily in order to avoid Thorin’s intense gaze and to hide his reddening cheeks.

In this moment, they were now being escorted to dine with Lord Elrond after they had cleared up their misunderstanding. Bilbo was sat beside Balin at one of the shorter tables while Gandalf, Thorin, and Elrond sat at another, taller one. He listened to their conversation while idly chewing on a lettuce leaf whose watery flavor had a delightful sweetness to it. Elrond told them the history of their Elvish blades, of how they originated from the great Elf kingdom of Gondolin. Gandalf’s was Glamdring, the “Foe-Hammer.” Thorin’s sword was Orcist, the “Goblin Cleaver.” They both sounded rather valiant and he couldn’t help but have a glance at his own blade, only to be discouraged by Balin who believed it may only be as insignificant as a letter opener, much to his dismay.

Bilbo gave a slight sniff in offense and finished his meal quietly, no longer caring for the address of politics among their more “important” members of the party.

 

**~**

 

Soon after dinner, Bilbo had the time to explore Imladris on his own. He was instantly enamored by its beauty--the intricate designs in the architecture, the soft sounds of water trickling into clear pools, the image of the sun setting over the horizon. But what interested him the most was the greenery. There were thick vines blanketing the smooth stone of the walls, flowers--jasmine, daffodils, gladiola--complimented the excessive green of the grove. It was even more than he could ever dream. His mother’s stories of Rivendell had included the details of its gardens, but never could they compare to the real thing.

Bilbo crouched in front of the bud of a daffodil, unsprung and waiting. With the touch of his fingertips, the bud slowly unfurled and bloomed into a vibrant blossom that smiled at him with gratitude. It was a quiet moment, one with only the sounds of small animals and the running water. And it was because it was so peaceful that he was startled to find Elrond standing right beside him. He hadn’t even heard him approach! The hobbit stood abruptly, a nervous flush spread upon his features. He brushed the wrinkles from his waistcoat hastily.

“Lord Elrond!” he acknowledged abruptly, providing a polite smile. “You gave me quite a fright. I didn’t hear you sneak up on me!”

The smile was returned with more amiability than the other. “Elves are known to be light-footed. And it was not my intention to startle you, I apologize, Master Baggins,” the elf said sincerely.

Imagine that! An elf lord  _ apologizing  _ to him? And for what? Giving him a small scare? Oh, he suddenly felt very important now to have something so trivial be a reason to deserve an apology from such a person--or rather elf--of high regard. “It’s quite alright,” he sniffed, ego inflating just a smidge. “It’s not like I was injured or anything.”

That evoked a light chuckle from Elrond whose eyes crinkled with genuine amusement. And then there was a silence between them, one that made Bilbo anxious, wondering what could possibly be on the elf’s mind when he suddenly spoke again. “Your gift is magnificent,” he commented, looking directly at the daffodil Bilbo had encouraged to grow. “You are very fortunate to be blessed by Yavanna in such a way. To give life to those that grow in the earth is a valuable ability indeed.”

For a moment, Bilbo felt dread. How did he know? Who had exposed him? Was he standing there the whole time when it happened? Had he exposed himself? But these flow of thoughts ended as quickly as they had started when he remembered what Gandalf had told him. Elves had been around longer than hobbits have. Of course they would know. He steadied his breath and gave the smallest of smiles.

“I am very grateful to have such a gift. All hobbits are. It especially helps us the most in particularly bad winters,” he returned, continuing the conversation. “And for me, it’s good for my garden. I wouldn’t be able to help my pretty little petunias grow without it. And I’m sure I would have made fewer pies as well.” Bilbo and Elrond shared a laugh at that, the former finally allowing himself to relax into the exchange.

“Yes, well, it is unusual for hobbits to go on adventures, is it not?”

This received a bit of a shrug and a slight sound of doubt, but ultimately, Bilbo agreed with the statement. Elrond turned away and regarded the sunset with a softer expression, almost like nostalgia. “If you would like, you are free to stay here. You would be most welcome.”

The offer made Bilbo’s eyes widen with surprise. To be allowed to stay here, in Rivendell, with the Elves? He tried to imagine this. Waking up everyday to the sounds of a harp’s strings being plucked elegantly, the dawn breaking through his window and warming his face before he arose for the day. Eating his breakfast and second breakfast with a view across the valley. Taking a brief walk before elevenses. Then he would spend his afternoon in the garden, having his lunch and tea there until dinner where he would dine with Elrond and others, and then he would enjoy supper in his room, watching the sun set.

That sounded like a paradise for a hobbit.

However...

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo found himself saying, albeit sounding a bit unsure. “I am going to have to decline. I signed a contract and hobbits like to stay true to their word.” He could not be selfish and indulge himself in a fantasy of the ideal home when there were thirteen dwarves who hadn’t one of their own.

Elrond didn’t seem particularly surprised by his answer, and instead offered an understanding smile. “Very well, if that is what you wish.”

“I appreciate your offer, though,” the hobbit added hastily, not wanting to seem rude. “Under any other circumstance, I would most definitely love to stay.”

The elf laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder. “You will always be welcome here, Master Baggins. Now you had best return to your dwarves before they begin to wonder where you have gone.”

Bilbo couldn’t help a slight scoff at that. “Yes, well, I don’t think they would even notice or care if I had decided to stay anyways,” he huffed, receiving another chuckle. He followed Elrond out of the grove who strode quietly across the path, almost like a spirit whose feet did not touch the ground. As they went, they were suddenly confronted by Thorin who seemed infuriated by that fact that they were just standing near one another. His eyes turned a glare onto Bilbo.

“What do you think you think you’re doing?” he snapped harshly, as though the hobbit were a fauntling who had just been caught doing something he was implicitly told not to do. 

Bilbo had the gall to appear offended. “I was only  _ talking _ to Lord Elrond. I don’t know what you’re so angry about,” he defended with a frown. He was suddenly pulled by the arm to Thorin’s side, the dwarf glancing warily towards the elf lord before his attention returned to the hobbit.

“You did not tell him of our quest,” he hissed, not quite a question, but more of a threat.

Bilbo was almost hurt by the assumption. “Of course I didn’t! Do you think me a fool?” he shot back before he pulled himself up as tall as he could as an attempt to make himself more intimidating. He had read the method in a book about animal behaviors once. “And I still don’t understand why you’re so... upset about me just having a simple chat! You know, you have been nothing but rude to me since the very beginning of this quest and I will have you realize that I will have  _ none _ of it!” At this point, he was wagging his finger quite accusingly at the dumbfounded dwarf before he stormed off in a huff.

 

**~**

 

That could have gone better, Bilbo believed as he sat far from the company as they made merry, singing their dwarvish songs and hymns that most definitely did not reflect his current mood. Oh, that blasted Thorin and his prejudice against Elves! He just had to spoil the one thing he really got to enjoy since he had (regrettably) decided to join in on their adventure, and it would take a lot more than being attractive to make him forgive him. Hobbits could hold grudges longer than the hair of an elf! Once Dora Baggins had gotten into an argument with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins when they were fauntlings and they still hadn’t forgiven each other!

And that was exactly what he intended to do--be very and quietly upset with Thorin for the rest of this journey and maybe even more so afterwards! He ruined  _ everything _ ! And no, he was not overreacting in anyway. And he was not going to regret yelling at him in the morning. And he was not going to apologize for it any time soon. Or at all for that matter.

Bilbo stared pointedly at the wall with a scowl.

He disliked himself almost as much as he disliked dwarves.


End file.
